


The Ending Where He Doesn't Die

by Polyhexian



Series: Scarborough Fair Continuity [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Everybody Lives, Functionist Universe (Transformers), M/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25345504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: An alternate ending to "You Know He Dies At the End, Right?" where: surprise! He doesn't die at the end.
Relationships: Tailgate/Whirl
Series: Scarborough Fair Continuity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032567
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51





	The Ending Where He Doesn't Die

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You know he dies at the end, right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084603) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian). 



Whirl's fist surged into Tailgate's face and shattered his visor and with it his spark. The pain bloomed like ink in water, an eruption of molten lava that whited out his visual feed so bright it hurt, thought that part mercifully only lasted a few seconds, before the darkness overwhelmed him.

Tailgate woke to ticking, like a clock, repeating in a monotone that made counting the ticks impossible, surging into one another like waves on the shore of the sea of rust, an echo chamber of time he could no more comprehend than he could focus on. His chronometer told him it was an hour before he put two and two together and realized the ticking synced up to his spark pulse- something he only just realized he had, which meant he wasn't dead after all. That was good news, at least, if nothing else was.

His optics failed to come back online, but even without a visual feed, he still had his HUD, and the flashing red EMERGENCY NOTIFICATION warning flashing across it. Cold dread crept up his spinal strut as he opened it.

> **|| IN LOWER PETROHEX I LOST MY SPARK / IN PRAXUS GARDENS I FELL APART ||**
> 
> **TG - YOU ARE COMPROMISED - FC ROLLING OUT IN-OPTIC CAMERAS - MY HANDLER INJURED - I AM INJURED - UNABLE TO EXTRACT YOU - IF YOU CAN: RUN - RW**

Tailgate took a long, deep ventilation cycle to clear his head. Okay. That was bad. That was all very, very bad. Possibly the worst it could be. 

The message began with a stanza of _Loveless Cybertron_ , a poem banned by the Functionary Council years ago- one of their code phrases, for the most dire of emergencies. It was sent over an unrestricted line- Rewind must be _really_ fucked. Him and Dominus both. 

Tailgate reached up carefully to where his visor should be, touching the edges. It wasn't there. 

In-optic cameras. Whirl must have known. Whirl had gotten him out without outting him as an informant. He must have been compromised. 

Whirl had saved his life. 

Tailgate sat up, ignoring the way it made his tanks spin and his head rush. If Rewind was running, if Tailgate was running, then someone was going to realize what they were doing. They would put two and two together. Whirl was on borrowed time. Whirl was on borrowed time and he _knew_ he was on borrowed time and he was _looking_ for an excuse to die. 

Birdy was going to die. 

Tailgate ripped the cables connecting his chest to the diagnostic machines out and slid off the berth onto his pedes, landing with a thump that sent a shock up his ankles, the berth having been higher than he anticipated. He regained his composure as quickly as he could and then patted around the room until he found a rag, fabric goods, and tore it into one long strip so he could tie it around his head and cover his exposed optical array. Without his visor it was too easy to touch, and it was _not_ meant to be touched. 

He tugged the knot tight and then slid along the wall until he reached the door and opened it. Head up, optics bright, look confident and like you know you're allowed to do what you're doing and no one ever stops to ask if you aren't.

He connected to the wifi and pulled out a map of the building. His log-in credentials were going to blow his cover, but he didn't need that anymore. It was go for broke time, and he was going for broke. 

Tailgate used the map to navigate his way to the stairwell and then down it again as fast as he dared, and then out streetside again. He flagged down a cab.

"Cog Barracks," he said, clambering into the back seat, "Double fare if you can make it in under twenty kliks." 

They made it in eighteen. Tailgate desperately wanted to bolt for his cel but forced himself to walk. Stay subtle. Stay under the radar. It wasn't time to set off the alarms. Not just yet. He slipped into his habcel, pulled the recharge slab away from the wall and retrieved his pistol. 

Tailgate had kept careful notes on the other disposal bots. Who showed up to work late, who seemed to undercharge, who paced at night. The habcels in his unit didn't lock, it wasn't just his own. Slipping into Backdrive's habcel was easy- he was always pacing late at night, and Tailgate had guessed correctly he would not be there now. He hid behind the door until the other mech returned, and then hit him from behind, quick as he could, one punch up into the back of the head. It was usually enough to punt someone temporarily offline. He got lucky.

"Sorry about this," he whispered, untabbing Backdrive's red visor from his faceplate, "I hope you can get a new one." He was kind enough, at least, to tie his blindfold over the poor mech's exposed optics so he didn't touch them, before he snapped the visor over his own.

He fished around in Backdrive's subspace until he found his Identification Card, and then took that, too, before he fumbled with the recharge slab, plugged poor Backdrive in, and then got out of there. 

The waiting was the worst. He could theoretically try to take a hostage and get them to drive him up to the Cog, but it was far safer to simply wait an hour for the next shuttle up- especially seeing as even with the new visor covering the obvious injury, he was still blind. 

Whirl might have been an atheist, but Tailgate was not. While he waited, he clasped his hands together in front of his mouthplate and he _prayed._

"Please," he whispered, to a God who had never paid him much mind before, "Please let me have this."

At fifty five minutes, he went into the shuttle station and presented his ID card, trying to keep the shaking out of his hands, hoping the security officer checking it couldn't tell Waste Disposal Units apart. 

He was waved on without incident. 

Tailgate waited with the other cleaners, who surely realized something was wrong- but none of them said anything. Even in complete silence, he could feel the tension, the unspoken agreement: we don't out our own. He felt bad for hitting Backdrive.

He'd been having trouble navigating so far, but he didn't need optics to get around the Cog. He had started his map the first day he was here and had improved it every day since. He could, and would, navigate this place with his optics closed.

He slipped into E wing and turned his audials up, made sure the coast was clear, and then kicked in the vent. This trip was easier than the first- it had already been pitch black the first time, but at least now he had mapped the way after his first trip centerward, to where the Council's meeting chamber lay. It was his only chance to get to Whirl alone. 

He wriggled through the shaft as quietly as he could, until he felt the vent beneath him. Audials up, he could just barely hear the thrum of Whirl's engine. Tailgate gathered his courage to call down to him, when there was a startlingly loud clang of the doors slamming open and then rapid footsteps and yelling, and within a matter of seconds, Whirl had transformed and shot off down the hall.

Great. 

He turned himself around and scrambled back down the passage, first the way he had come, and then in the direction of the commotion, praying he didn't end up falling down a vertical shaft he hadn't mapped in this direction. 

As he got closer he started moving faster, no longer concerned about whatever noise _he_ was making- they were fighting, someone was fighting, and as he approached it became clear who: _Star Saber_.

Suddenly he felt a vent beneath his servos, and he grabbed for the screws at the side to open it.

"-back! Resist, resist, resist, live resisting, die resisting, don't spend so much time surviving you never get to live," Whirl said, below, his voice so strained and panicked it choked Tailgate's spark as if in a vice. He ripped out one corner. "It doesn't matter what you turn into, you are valuable, you matter, you can change everything."

Tailgate wrenched out the second screw and then hesitated. He didn't hear Star Saber. What was going on? He unsubspaced his gun. Was he jumpong straight to his death?

"It doesn't matter if you're a council member, a bodyguard, a watchmaker, or- or a _janitor_ ," Whirl's voice broke. Tailgate took a deep, steadying breath. "You matter more than anything else to someone."

Tailgate kicked out the grate and took a blind leap of faith.

He wasn't sure who he had landed on, but it certainly wasn't Whirl, Whirl didn't have a face.

"What the _fu_ -" oh! It was Star Saber! 

Tailgate was clinging to the enforcer's shoulder and heaved himself up, pointed at where Star Saber's voice had come from, until he hit something, then fired, directly into one optic.

He dropped when the mech crumpled, rolling back and away and scrambling back to his pedes.

"Holy hell, _Tailgate_?!" he heard Whirl cry out behind him, "Wh- what the he- how did- wh-"

Tailgate whipped around and reached up with his free hand, "Come down here!" The second his fingers found Whirl's helm he grabbed him right by the prongs and yanked him all the way down, mashing the front of his faceplate to the rim of Whirl's helm casing, feeling gentle static pass between them, and he sighed, tension going out of his frame.

"What?" Whirl repeated.

"That's four," said Tailgate, releasing him.

"Four? Four what?"

"Acts. Four acts," Tailgate clarified, "Fuck the order."

"You…" 

"Okay, uh, that was like, my whole plan, so I'm gonna need your help from here, Birdy," he checked his gun, and turned back around when he heard someone approach, "Also ignore the visor, I'm still blind."

"You're- wha- how did you _get_ here- you can't even-"

"Think on your feet! Is there another exit? Where are we? What _room_ is this?"

"Uh- this is the broadcast room, we're on tv right now- there's a hole in the wall, we can-"

"Okay, doubling back on the TV thing later, here, take my- grab my hand, I need you to lead-" 

"Tailgate, I can't- this isn't how this _ends_ , I have to-"

"Who the hell are _y_ -" said a voice Tailgate recognized as Six-of-Twelve from what he surmised must be the door. Tailgate pointed at the noise and fired, then turned back to Whirl. 

"Nope, you don't get a say in this. Shut up, take my hand, and help me finish rescuing you. That's how this ends. Got it?"

A brief pause. "Holy slag, you're even cooler than I thought. That was insane. You hit him in the _chest._ You really can't see?" 

"Birdy! Hand!" 

"Oh, shit, right, yeah-" One of Whirl's claws found his free hand and Tailgate wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing tightly. "Come on, this way. Fire behind you!" 

"Got it," he aimed behind him, counted his rounds, and started shooting, as Whirl pulled him forward, then up and over something, and then kept running. 

"Where are we?" Tailgate asked, struggling to keep up. 

"Uh- I'm not sure- it's the- B wing, somewhere, a room with a bunch of computers, I think-"

"Tech lab," Tailgate told him, "Left!" Whirl yanked him left.

"How do you _know_ that? You work in E wing!"

"I told you," Tailgated laughed, feeling giddy, "I've been doing this a long time!" 

"Fuck me! You're a goddamn super spy and I'm over here thinking I need to protect you, like some kind of idiot, when you've clearly got this shit completely fucking handled!" 

" _Thank_ you! One more left, and into the shuttle bay!" 

"Yes, _sir!_ "

Tailgate stumbled to a halt as Whirl came to a stop.

"Okay, I'm out of ammo, but we still need to get the shuttle, so-"

"Teeg, I can fly."

"You can- oh! Oh, yeah! Sorry, I totally forgot." 

"Hang on to your butt," Whirl said, and Tailgate yelped in surprise as he was unceremoniously picked up and tossed straight up. It took him a moment to realize after he'd landed that he was in Whirl's alt-mode. 

"Okay, hold on tight, there's anti-aircraft artillery out here, so this is not gonna be a smooth flight-" 

"Oh _god_ -" Tailgate gasped as his spark leapt into his throat and his helm snapped back, and Whirl took off. For a helicopter, those were some _unexpected g-forces._

"Get fragged!" Whirl yelled, firing at something as he tilted into a full barrel roll, and Tailgate searched frantically for a seat belt. 

"I have no idea where I'm going!" Whirl yelled, pulling into another spiral.

"Head toward the Manganese Mountains," Tailgate told him, "We can lose them in the magnetic fields."

"Uh, _I'll_ lose me in the magnetic fields! Maybe you can get around blind, but _I_ can't!" 

Tailgate paused. "Do you have any targetmaster training?"

"Uh. Some."

"Cool. I can fly, then."

"...You're a fragging _targetmaster?!?_ "

"I played one for six months like ten years ago," Tailgate said, scrubbing through old files for the relevant protocols, "I didn't say I was _good_ at it, but I know the area by sight." He found the right one and pinged Whirl an access request, "Let me hijack your visual feed." 

"Oh, god. Please don't crash me."

"No promises."

The only time Tailgate had ever been in the pilot's seat before was with Skywarp, and he was a _jet_ , which was a completely different beast entirely- Whirl accepted targetmaster control and Tailgate nearly crashed on the spot when his visual feed flickered to life. Yeah, there was a reason you usually did this _before_ takeoff. 

"I said _don't_ crash me!" Whirl yelled as they started to nosedive, but Tailgate managed to pull them back up before they were really in danger, scanning protocols and instrument readings with the cursory knowledge of the world's worst Targetmaster.

"Alright, we've got- two tails?"

"Yeah, two _left,_ " Whirl confirmed. 

"Okay- okay-" and just like that, his maps and directional equipment went offline. They were in the field. He scanned the landscape, "I know where we are! I've been here, I know- I know where we are!" 

He turned sharp around a cliff face into a canyon and tried to ignore his partner's immediate panic around him, and focused on the sound of a crash behind them, taking another curve beneath an archway, too sharp, sending them into an unwanted barrel roll. 

"Pull up!" Whirl sputtered, as Tailgate turned them toward the cliff face, "Oh, my god, pull up! What are you doing?!"

"Trust me!" Tailgate said, wrenching control back as Whirl inched to lock him out, "I've got this!" 

"Gods above, I thought you wanted us to _live_ -" 

Before their tail could round the corner they passed right through the hologram wall that covered the tunnel in the cliff face, and Tailgate let go of the controls.

"I have no idea how to land!" he yelled, as his visual feed went black again.

"Holy slag, warn a guy before you hand him the-" 

Whirl wobbled, tilted, flipped his rotors forward and then gave up, transforming mid air and grabbing Tailgate before he tucked and rolled, tumbling head over heels to an eventual stop, panting. 

Tailgate clung to his midsection like a vice long after they'd come to a halt, trembling with the rush of panic that came with any crash landing, before, finally, he started laughing. Deliriously, delightedly.

"Holy shit," he giggled, "We're alive!"

"Uh," said Whirl, intelligently, and Tailgate pushed back, tilting his head up toward him and reaching blindly for his face, grabbing him and pulling him down into another kiss, bubbling with mad glee at their absolutely insane escape from certain death.

He pulled back, patting the helicopter for damage, "Are you good? Are you okay? Did you- are you-"

Whirl hoisted him up and held him at arm's length, claws under his arms.

" _You_ ," he said, voice warbled, "You're _crazy._ "

Tailgate paused, cold dread prickling at his spinal strut, suddenly concerned that maybe, just maybe, he had misread their whole dynamic after all.

"Uh," he said, hesitantly, "If I shouldn't have kissed you, I'm _OOF-_ "

Whirl crushed him against his chest, "That was absolutely mad! What was any of that! Oh my god, did all that really just happen?! Oh my god."

"I'm- I'm pretty sure it did!" Tailgate laughed a breathy sigh of relief, "We super can't stay here, I gotta blow the entrance and we gotta get moving, but- but we're good for now! We're out, Birdy!"

"Say that again," Whirl said, burying his head deeper into Tailgate's shoulder.

"What? Birdy?"

"Yes."

"Birdy," he repeated, mouthplate pressed against Whirl's neck, " _My_ Birdy."

Whirl hiccuped a sob and clutched him tighter. "Please don't wake me," he mumbled, beginning to shake. 

"Hey," said Tailgate, petting his back, "I've got you. It's okay."

"It is?"

"It is," he soothed, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Wait, wait, I-" he shifted, like he wasn't sure of he wanted to cling tighter or let go, " _Why?_ Why did you come back? You could have been killed, I- I tried to get you out, I wanted to-"

"Whirlibird," Tailgate pulled away and held Whirl's helm in his hands so he could see his face, "I love you."

"Me?"

"Yes, _you_."

"I love you, too!" 

"Good," Tailgate laughed nervously, "Cuz, uh, I think we just got hitched on national television."

"Oh. Oh! Oh, geez."

"Sorry about that. I mean, not sorry I did it, sorry for the TV part, I didn't know about that at the time, I was sort of playing it by audials, and-"

"No, it's- it's fine, that's- fine. If you're not sorry, I'm not sorry."

"I'm not sorry," Tailgate said, gently. "Okay. Ready to go, now?"

"Oh! Right, yeah," Whirl scooted away and set Tailgate down, standing and giving himself a quick once over. Tailgate pushed himself to his feet and then stumbled, realizing he'd crumpled one of his shins inward. 

"Hey," he said, testing his weight on it, "You wanna give me a ride?"

"Are you sure? I know minis hate being picked up, I don't want to-" Tailgate turned his face toward him, as if he could stare, "What?"

"Nothing," Tailgate laughed, "Just pick me up."

"Okay. I have no idea where we are or where we're going," Whirl reminded him, plopping him on his shoulders. 

"I know the way from here."

"Do you wanna reconnect to my visual feed?"

"That would be great."

Tailgate re-sorted his HUD to account for admittedly poor field of vision, shuffling around icons and rearranging menus. 

"What's up with the red visor, anyway?" Whirl asked, "Are those your angry eyes or something?" 

"Take a left here. Huh? Oh no, it's not mine."

"It's not?"

"Nah, I stole it."

"You _stole_ it?!"


End file.
